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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885752">And The Cradle Will Fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenixCri/pseuds/FenixCri'>FenixCri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Breastfeeding, Come Inflation, Coming of Age, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fantastic Racism, First Time, Food Sex, Frottage, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Oral Knotting, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Somnophilia, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:28:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,202</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FenixCri/pseuds/FenixCri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Praxus has never been the shining city devoid of filth it tries to portray itself as. Depravity lurks at the very root of its culture, carefully hidden from outsiders. Within the shining city of crystals a young mechling comes of age, with all that entails.</p><p>Or, some things that are taboo in Iacon are perfectly normal in Praxus and they just want to enjoy the peace and quiet of their lives.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rock-a-bye Baby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yeah, I'm sure this is gonna be controversial. I don't really care, no one was hurt in the writing of this fic and I think I've covered most of the necessary warnings in the tags.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jazz has finally received his mechling upgrades. Now he gets to spend some quality time with his carrier. He couldn't be more excited.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Praxus, glittering jewel of the Tri-Torus states. Gleaming crystal and polished etiquette. A frankly stifling atmosphere for those not born and bred for life in the city of doorwingers. </p><p>Of course, that's exactly how Praxians prefer it. It's so much easier to hide the darker parts of life when you've convinced everyone there's nothing there to see. Just boring, rule-bound mechs too disinteresting to be worth scrutiny. And it worked, for centuries. Just as insular as their sister-city to the south, Praxus fiercely guarded her people and their secrets.</p><p>Foremost amongst those secrets, their interface habits. After all, interface with close kin was frowned upon outside of the twin cities. It was something every young mechling was taught never to speak of in front of outsiders from an early age. The better to protect their way of life.</p><p>Prowl knew the unspoken laws, had experienced it all first hand. Had had the spark-churning guilt of a near miss soothed by his own creators back then. How he longed for their reassuring presence again. But no, there was only him and his newly upgraded creation, the bond between them thrumming with excitement and jitters as Jazz pulled at his servo to urge him home faster. He remembered his own excitement, centuries earlier, when the medic had given his creation trine the all clear to manually activate his interface protocols. He'd been so excited he'd nearly let slip the secret in front of foreigners. At least in this Jazz was more circumspect than his carrier had been.</p><p>"Slow down Jazz, there is no need to rush," every sub-glyph was coloured with fond amusement and love. His sparkling, too impatient to wait for the elevator, was taking the stairs up to their third-floor habsuite two at a time. </p><p>"I know Cari, but I wanna be home. You've got the next two decaorn off, right?" The charming smile Jazz flashed him was certainly not one he'd inherited from Prowl. And yet it made Prowl melt, a surge of affection and indulgence surging across their bond as he scooped his mechling, now two thirds his carrier's size, up into his arms. "Yes Brightspark, I'm all yours for the next two decaorn." Traditional after every new frame upgrade, but especially necessary after the upgrade from third stage youngling to first stage mechling. Ample time for a pride to introduce their younger members to the joys of interface and their new frame. </p><p>Jazz would not have that. They were a pride of only two. Prowl carefully shielded his creation from the pang of regret. There would be no cousins or uncles to welcome them home. Not for a half-breed sparkling and a carrier without a trine. Oh, they hadn't disowned them, but they didn't acknowledge Jazz as theirs. And so Prowl was estranged from his pride and Jazz would have only him for one of the most important events in a young Praxians life.</p><p>Still, they were home. They would have treats to celebrate and then Prowl would take his creation to their berth and allow him to explore. He let the excited chattering of his sparkling soothe him as he gathered rust sticks and goodies and Jazz's favorite sweet energon. His sparkling didn't feel slighted or less than for all the smallness of their family. No, Jazz felt content and cared for, he couldn't miss what he had never known.</p><p>"Come, sit with me and refuel." Prowl settled himself on the couch in the open great room that functioned as kitchen, entertainment and dining room. The selection of treats spread out before him more than enough to entice Jazz to sit beside him, cuddled into his side as small doorwings fluttered joy for all to see. "You remember the rules?"</p><p>The small half-praxian popped a goodie into his mouth with a hum of pleasure, though Prowl had the distinct impression of optics rolling behind their protective visor. "Yes Carrier, don't talk about 'facing where foreigners might hear. Tell you immediately if self-repair reports damage. Get lots of recharge and fuel." It was a list they'd covered repeatedly since Jazz had come home from his last upgrade and the medic had repeated before they left. </p><p>Still, Prowl nodded seriously. The rules were important and Jazz would respect them, impatient or not. He settled back against the couch, allowing Jazz free reign over the entertainment system and treats as he sipped on his cube of low grade. He idly pet his creation's wings as he waited. </p><p>Eventually even treats and a popular musician could no longer keep Jazz's attention though. Between nerves, excitement and the high-energy mid-grade Prowl had given him, the already high energy sparkling could sit still no longer. "Now? Can we? Please Prowl?" Jazz practically vibrated as he leaned hard into Prowl's side. He had never been good at denying his sparkling. </p><p>"Go get in the berth, I'll just be a few moments." The agreement was easy, Jazz off like a shot as Prowl was still leveraging himself up. He wasn't much behind Jazz, though he subspaced treats and energon for later.</p><p>Jazz sat in the center of the bowl-like depression inset into the floor and filled with blankets and cushions, eagerly awaiting his creator. The bond between them thrumming with want and curiosity and reassuring love did nothing to keep the new mechling from bouncing on his knees. Impatient to experience something new as always. "What first?" The question was half demand by now, Jazz as always eager to start this new adventure.</p><p>"First, your spike, I think. It's the less startling of the two to have onlined." And the seal would hurt less to remove as well, in Prowl's memory. "Lay back Jazz, let Carrier take care of you."</p><p>The black and white sparkling was eager to obey for once, throwing himself back into the plush red cushions of the nest. A blanket caught on one elegant helm finial, an inelegant move from a young mech usually so careful. Prowl carefully pulled it aside with a chuckle as he knelt beside his creation, leaning over him to take Jazz's lips in a gentle kiss. This at least was familiar ground for Jazz, who clutched at his creator's bumper and opened his mouth to eagerly greet Prowl's searching glossa. The kiss is gentle and languid, allowing Jazz to relax into the familiar as Prowl gently pets his sides, his hips. And finally, finally the still cool panel hiding his creation's spike. </p><p>Still, Jazz responded beautifully to his touch, hips arching up into the touch, whimpering into the kiss. Slowly, reluctantly; Prowl pulled away from the kiss, allowing the mechling to ventilate properly. "I'm going to open your spike panel now," Prowl warned, voice steady even as his core temperature crept upward. Jazz's visor brightened excitedly and he pushed himself up onto his elbows so he might see better. </p><p>Prowl shuffled down the bed, spreading Jazz's thighs so he could kneel between them. Jazz whined, low in his throat, reaching out to Prowl across their bond. Though he wanted this, was excited by the prospect, he was nervous as every young mechling was. </p><p>Prowl shushed him, crooning reassurance as he manually retracted the armour for his only creation. It would be the last time it would be closed for several days if he had his way. "Look at you, my beautiful little mechling. I'm so proud of you." The praise eased some of the nerves the mechling was projecting. His armour loosening as he relaxed. And Prowl lowered his helm to nuzzle first his spike seal and then the valve. A soft, open mouthed kiss was pressed to the taut silicone before he turned his attention to the far thinner spike seal.</p><p>"This will feel odd until the protocols activate, don't be afraid." Jazz didn't even have a chance to respond before his creator's mouth enveloped the seal. Rough glossa scraping a wide swath across it, even as warm lips pressed against the sensitive sheath holding his spike.</p><p>It felt distinctly odd, as Jazz had been warned, but he was in no hurry to stop the big black and white mech. He wanted to feel this, wanted to know. And as new protocols began to bloom across his HUD, Prowl began to hum. </p><p>Jazz could only gasp, clawed servos clutching his creator's head to him as the noise lit up dozens of sensors deep inside his sheath. A dozen new alerts demanded attention. Jazz agreed to them all.</p><p>Prowl could feel it as the seal beneath his glossa begin to bow outwards as his sparkling's spike began to pressurize for the first time. He licked more frantically, the tiny barbs on his glossa tearing the silicon minutely. Weakening it until suddenly the spike behind it burst through, into his mouth. He could only swallow rapidly as the seal shredded and Jazz's first overload burst down his throat.</p><p>No knot, not this time. But soon. Jazz was curled around his helm, claws scratching away paint as he whimpered, hips jerking erratically. Chasing that first addicting surge of pleasure. Prowl lay quiescent, letting Jazz frag his mouth until the mechling collapsed backwards. He drew off, slowly, letting his full lips drag over the sensitive protometal as he licked it clean. </p><p>"You taste so good sweetspark, do you want a taste?" Crawling up and over his creation, he pressed his lips to the panting, trembling ones beneath him. His glossa swept past them without resistance, sharing the taste of Jazz's transfluid with the mechling.</p><p>There's a shudder of surprise, but Jazz has always been curious. He's eager enough to push into the kiss, tangling their glossa together and tasting both his own seal and transfluid in his carrier's mouth.</p><p>Eventually Prowl drew back, letting Jazz ventilate properly. He'd let the mechling relax for a few moments, but he wasn't quite done for today. And he didn't think Jazz was either, given the sudden intense focus his sparkling have him as he finally allowed his own interface array to open. His spike pressurized as soon as it was released, a small amount of prefluid already beading at the tip. </p><p>He smiled, calm and reassuring as he laid down on his side close to Jazz. "There's no rush, when you want to continue." The offer is there, to stop now if Jazz has had enough. But the smaller black and white is just as stubborn as his carrier. He takes only a few moments to gather himself, his spike already half-hard again as he crawls over to Prowl. </p><p>"What now?"</p><p>"Now you lie down with me and just enjoy." As Jazz throws himself down, facing his creator, Prowl can't help but be amused at the eagerness. He pets long, soothing strokes down his creation's side even as his free servo wraps around Jazz's spike. "This day is about you after all Jazz."</p><p>He pumps his wrist slowly, letting the pleasure build again. Love and need pulse across the bond between the two and it is hard even for Prowl to say where creator's feelings end and and creation's begin. But soon Jazz's spike is hard and leaking and Prowl releases it to a sound of protest from Jazz. He shushes his sparkling, drawing him in closer until their spikes rub against each other. </p><p>It's slick with dribbling transfluid and Jazz's ventilation a hitch. But he's driven by instinct and he can't stop his hips from twitching, dragging his smaller spike across his carrier's. He's lost as soon as the new pleasure registers, hips rutting as fast as he can with Prowl's hand supporting his aft. It's wet and hot and pleasure spirals dizzyingly  through his processor. </p><p>He's sobbing with need and overheating by the time Prowl wraps a servo around both their spikes. The last bit of stimulation he needed to send him over. His transfluids splatter across both black and white abdomens. Jazz too far gone to care about the mess. He's already fading towards recharge, his energy spent and processor desperately needing to sort new memories and protocols when he registers his carrier moving his limp body.</p><p>He's laid on his back, Prowl's fangs digging into his shoulder in a code-deep urge to claim. And as he finally slips into recharge, there's a splatter of hot fluids across his hips and thighs, his creator's long delayed overload.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Couple of notes regarding this verse:</p><p>Praxians form trines as their core family unit, just as Seekers do. Each member of that trine however will be a member of a pride.</p><p>Prides consist of a loose collection of related trines, their creations and mates. Some are more traditional than others, as with any family group.</p><p>Still, prides tend to be close-knit and physical affection is common. Biting is a common way to mark pridemates, satisfying a hard-coded imperative to visually claim their family. Praxians are after all, descendants of the sight-hunting Seekers.</p><p>Most frametypes on Cybertron will have some sort of pack or family structure, along with unique rituals and traditions that come with those instincts. Many will also have specialized equipment.</p><p>Polyhexians are well adapted for hunting in low light, with sensitive audials and optics optimized for lowlight conditions. Anathema to the pack-hunting structure of Praxians however, they tend to be loners returning to their skulk only infrequently.</p><p>Praxians meanwhile adapted for the hot dry plains of the north. They are pursuit predators capable of great endurance. Their prey is usually many times larger than them though and so they hunt together.</p><p>Jazz losing his seals as a new mechling is not unusual for most Cybertronians. What is considered slightly taboo is losing them to his creator. Different cultures handle this in other manners. Minibot cetes tend to leave it to their youngsters to work it out amongst themselves. Rookeries of trucks will appoint a single member of the rookery to mentor youngsters in interface. Seekers are similar to Praxians in that it is often a group affair with many mechs teaching mechlings as they feel more comfortable branching out.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Never to part, baby o' mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's a new day, a new experience. And yet Jazz wakes all alone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Specific warnings for this chapter... Knotting, some insight into Prowl and Jazz's life. If there's other warnings you feel should be here let me know I suppose?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's early the next day cycle when Jazz comes back online, the hazy light of Hadeen just beginning to filter into the berth room. Even as early as it is though, Prowl is already up and out of the nest. Had the Enforcers commed him? He'd promised Jazz two full decaorns. A plaintive chirp echoes through the berth room. </p><p>And from the doorway came that familiar beloved voice, pitched to soothe ruffled plating. "I'm here Jazz, I was retrieving our morning energon." Quiet pedesteps make their way closer, until he can see the Enforcer crouching to place two cubes on the floor. </p><p>Jazz offers no apology, gathering his legs under him and crawling into Prowl's lap as soon as the older mech is settled in the berth. "Thought you mighta got called in," is muttered against the prominent bumper. </p><p>Prowl's spark breaks a little for his young creation, so often left with minders as Prowl is called in on supposed orns off. "No sweetspark, not this time. They wouldn't dare." Because if someone did try, Prowl would crawl so far up their tailpipe they'd be reciting the legal precedent protecting this time off even in their recharge.</p><p>There were some perks, after all to having risen to command quickly. And while the Tactical Unit may be constantly in demand, they also had some of the sharpest minds in Praxus. Not a group to be lightly crossed. </p><p>Jazz was silent beyond snuggling into Prowl as best he could. He took the energon without complaint, sipping quietly and letting his carrier's steady presence be reassurance. "'cause you'd string 'em up?" It's something he's heard at the precinct more than once. No one minds talking shop when they don't realize how sensitive Jazz's hearing is.</p><p>It startles a bark of laughter from his creator though. The accusation is one he's well familiar with, given his defacto role of disciplinarian for his unit. "Exactly so, no one wants to risk it." His cube is quickly emptied and set aside, merely holding Jazz as he refuels. </p><p>Soon enough though, Jazz is finished fueling and squirming impatiently in his lap. "I'm bored, what are we doin'?" It may be only first light, but he had been waiting for this for vorns, and he would be damned before he let a single moment go to waste.</p><p>Prowl should have expected this, truly. His creation was as adverse to sitting idle as he himself. But instead of replying directly, he patted Jazz's aft lightly. "Up for a moment, I need to move and get comfortable for this."</p><p>Jazz scrambles up and away, to the far edge of the nest. Much further than he'd needed to, but Prowl would not laugh. Not at his mechling's undimmed exuberance. No, instead he methodical rearranges cushions until he can comfortably recline and still see over his bumper. Jazz's optics have fixed themselves between his legs, as Prowl expected. He beckons his creation back. "Come here Jazz."</p><p>His spark knows it is a request, not a command. Not in that soft voice he's only ever heard directed at him. So he gives himself a moment. To prepare? To build anticipation? Even he's not entirely sure.  But he's certain that both he and Prowl feel the throb of heat in his spark as he crawls between his carrier's spread thighs. He can't decide where his servos should go and eventually settles for resting them on the broad white plain of Prowl's abdomen.</p><p>The tactician gives the young mech a few moments to relax, to accept the new position. A gentle servo pets fledgling doorwings, careful of sharp claws. And when it seems he has lost most of his tension Prowl lifts one of the small black hands and kisses his palm. </p><p>"You can touch all you want," it's barely a whisper, said into Jazz's small servo as it is. But those audial fins are sensitive and of course Jazz hears. His hand is pulled away from his carrier's face, away and down. Prowl not releasing his grip until small digits brushed against the slowly heating lips of his valve.</p><p>Jazz's free hand curls around his abdominal armour, an anchor. "Y'sure? I don't want t' hurt you either Carrier." His claws may be smaller than Prowl's but they were still just as sharp and capable of damaging protometal.</p><p>"I will tell you if you are too rough, but I have full faith in you Jazz." The rumbling purr that shakes the armour beneath his hand is almost as reassuring as the words themselves. Still he's as gentle as he can manage as he settles back to better watch his hand at work. Small black claws delicately trace the faintly glowing nub of Prowl's anterior node. Then down, over the slowly swelling lips that cushion the delicate equipment during interface. </p><p>Prowl let's the mechling touch and explore as he will, content in the knowledge that Jazz will handle delicate equipment with care. It's just beginning to turn maddening, the gentle barely there touches that avoid all his most sensitive places when Jazz finally brings his claws to the rim of Prowl's valve. He knows there's a sheen of lubricant coating it, can feel it beginning to trickle down his aft.</p><p>He nearly keens as one claw edges inside his valve, the blunt sides following it all the way round curiously. He doesn't manage to choke down the moan when Jazz pulls at it sharply. Perhaps more so than intended, given the sharp gasp from the mechling. Prowl's pedes and calves are suddenly pressed against his back and aft, preventing Jazz from retreating. "You haven't hurt me, sweetspark. But you are being a dreadful tease." Prowl's tone is light, spark pulsing reassurance to the younger one it had carried beside it for vorn. </p><p>Jazz squirms, embarrassed and pressing his wings back to touch the warm plating behind him. "Sorry, didn't mean to be?" His spike is aching and he's unsure of himself, how and where to touch. What is permitted. But of course, his carrier knows him. Knows his every quirk.</p><p>The pedes against his aft slowly pull him in closer, til he's nearly plastered against his creator's chassis. His spike is rubbing distractingly against the crease of Prowl's thigh and he can't think clearly.</p><p>Luckily Prowl takes pity on his creation, Jazz nearly sobs in relief as Prowl takes his spike in hand. The older Praxian trills reassuringly, and guides his creation's spike into his valve. Instinct takes over for Jazz as he registers the wet heat gripping the tip of his spike. He thrusts erratically, without rhythm. His claws come to rest on wide black hips, clinging. </p><p>Prowl grunts with each thrust, helm tipping backwards. He is slick enough and Jazz just small enough that the lack of preparation doesn't cause more than a momentary ache. But the lack of consistent pace is driving him wild, calipers cycling randomly in hopes of pressing sensitive mesh against the invading spike. Could he get off like this? Eventually.</p><p>But already he can feel his creation's knot begin to swell, dragging his spike across sparking nodes just a little slower. Jazz seems in no hurry to stop pulling it all the way out however, and that just won't do. At full dilation Jazz's knot wouldn't fit through either way. And that was not a lesson he was eager to teach just yet. </p><p>Jazz growled, the swelling of his spike pushing back inside his carrier's valve with a wet sound of displaced lubricant. He pushed as close as he could, bottoming out before starting to withdraw again chasing his pleasure single-mindedly. Strong white servos caught him about the waist before he had the chance however. He nearly howled in frustration, but still his spike swelled. And Prowl's valve could finally welcome him properly.</p><p>It took only a few cycles of well practiced calipers massaging his spike before Jazz finally overloaded, his fangs latching onto the bouncing bumper before him, scoring the shiny metal in a claiming mark. </p><p>His knot keeping them locked together even as wave after wave of pleasure left him thrusting shallowly into his creator's valve. And as the overload faded, so too did Jazz. A blurry murmur of thanks was all Prowl received as the sparkling slumped forward against him, using him as a rather unorthodox berth.</p><p>Prowl settled down, his optics dimming as he focused inward on the spike still locked inside him. It was still releasing transfluid in spurts, even after Jazz had fallen into recharge. He'd have a mess to clean up later. But for now he allowed himself to enjoy the brief spikes of charge each shot of transfluid set off, valve eager to milk whatever bit of pleasure it could from the intruder. </p><p>Only when he was well and truly sure that Jazz was deep in recharge did Prowl allow himself to doze. It would likely be hours yet before the mechling's knot went down or he woke. And Prowl would notice either and wake immediately. </p><p>He would be there when Jazz woke. That reassurance echoed through the silent bond as Prowl allowed his consciousness to fade, holding Jazz close.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fat fingers are the curse of mobile users. Accidentally posted this as a oneshot at first. Whoops. But no, it's actually a multichapter fic. </p><p>It wasn't actually a consideration until now what the chapters would be called, but I think I'll be sticking with the lullaby theme for now.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Like a diamond in the sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A short nap revitalizes Jazz and there's still more to learn and experience. What will Prowl teach him now?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter specific warnings:</p><p>Improper use of candy, seriously do not put candy anywhere but your mouth<br/>Oral sex, again, this time preformed by a minor<br/>Come eating<br/>Bathtub hand and wingjob</p><p> </p><p>A little more talking about Praxians; prides and trines and some expectations</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prowl came back online from his doze to the sensation of his creation's spike slipping out of his valve, a trickle of lubricants and transfluid following shortly after. And a sting on his bumper, where Jazz had left a claiming bite. He'd given in to the hard-coded instinct to mark his pride. </p><p>It was a relief as always, when Jazz displayed just how very Praxian he was, despite the audial fins and light sensitive optics that marked him as having Polyhexian heritage. His estranged pride may not acknowledge Jazz as Praxian, but Prowl's coding had bred true. And any modern pride would have no trouble taking him in when he found his trine as an adult.</p><p>Still, now wasn't the time for contemplating his creation's future mates. Not when he could feel him stirring from recharge against his abdomen and between his thighs. His bumper blocked his view however and would only get in the way of what he had planned next. No, the chest armour may as well come off. </p><p>Quiet clicks and the pneumatic hiss of disengaging armour was the first sound that greeted Jazz as he returned to consciousness. And as his optics booted he was greeted by the sight of Prowl lifting away his heavy chest plating and setting it on the floor outside the berth. There was, of course, some discreet armor still to protect delicate internals. But without the bulk of his chest plating in the way Prowl was much more flexible and streamlined.</p><p>"Prowl?" The mechling tilted his helm, claws scratching his creator's abdominal armour as he sat up. "What're we doing?" After all, they had only removed his spike seal before. Nothing requiring the removal of armour.</p><p>Prowl smiled conspiratorially, leaning forward to cup Jazz's face and rub one audio finial. "We're going to have a treat." His smile softened as his sparkling leaned into his hand, purring away. It would also please his elders in his mates' prides later on, if Jazz was good at offering oral pleasure.</p><p>More important matters beckoned however. "I have bismuth goodies, would you like some?" Bismuth was known for melting in mechs intakes, savoury more than sweet and filled with gently spiced energon. They were some of Jazz's favourite candies and would work perfectly for what Prowl had in mind. </p><p>The flair of eager anticipation across their bond was answer enough, though Jazz still gave voice to his want. "Ohhhh, yes! Please Carrier? Can I have one?" </p><p>Prowl didn't try to stifle the fond amusement he felt or quiet his chuckle as he pulled one from his subspace. "You can have several, my brightspark. But you'll have to work for the rest." He popped the first into the mechling's eagerly open mouth, a clawed digit swiping over plump lips in parting.</p><p>Jazz bit into the treat, far too impatient to let it melt and eager to see what exactly Prowl had planned. "Course Prowl, I'll do anythin' ya tell me to." His intake was still full of partially consumed energon, but the older black and white didn't scold for once. He was happy for that eagerness.</p><p>"Then you'll have to lick this one up." The candy was soft, soft enough that he could squash it and leave a smear of bismuth and energon on the relatively flat expanse of his abdomen. Jazz's field flared with surprise, but he dove for the treat enthusiastically. Eagerly lapping the pink treat from his carrier's pristine plating. A second quickly followed, drenching Prowl's hip. Jazz cleaned it up just as quickly.</p><p>Prowl was pleased, the game was proceeding well, Jazz showed no hesitation. The real test would start now though. Jazz sat back as he cleaned the last of the energon away, licking his lips and waiting to see how Prowl would continue. And Prowl would not disappoint.</p><p>He let Jazz watch as he retrieved the candy, moving deliberately, allowing the heat of his claws to begin melting the mineral shell as he brought it down to the glowing red nub of his anterior node. Jazz's gaze was intent, watching wide opticed as the candy burst open, spreading energon and bismuth chunks over his carrier's node and valve lips. The delicate white claws withdrew, Prowl sucking the remnants from them one by one, enjoying the surge of surprise and lust from his mechling. "Just like the last one Jazz." </p><p>A faint blush crossed the younger mech's cheeks as he nodded and bent to the task. First gently lapping up the energon furthest from his carrier's node. Gentle, barely felt licks that hardly dared dip between the slowly engorging valve lips. </p><p>His carrier's servos settled on the back of his helm, drawing him in closer. "Harder, use the flat of your glossa for even pressure. Suck, if you want." The calm voice, so dear and familiar eased what apprehensions Jazz may have had. The even tone belied the heat radiating from his array that Jazz could feel against his face, and the whine of his cooling fans was well audible.</p><p>Let it never be said Jazz is an inattentive student. No, he could be an eager, headstrong one however. And never had that been clearer to Prowl than in that moment as Jazz dove forward, lips latching onto his node as though it were the sparkling's lifeline. Energon and lubricant was smeared across white cheeks, his chin digging into puffy valve lips as he suckled. Prowl was left gasping, curling forward to hunch over his creation. "Ye-yes, just like that sweetling." </p><p>He could have easily overloaded like that, holding Jazz's helm exactly where he wanted him. But that wasn't the entirety of the lesson. No, he reluctantly pulled the sparkling away as his charge began to crackle, hanging onto the last threads of his control. "One… one more treat, Jazz. Then we're done." Was that a curl of disappointment in Jazz's spark? Perhaps, but Prowl had a mission.</p><p>And this time that candy was pressed deep into his valve. Lubricant and transfluid both welled up around his digits, the heat already rapidly melting the treat. This time Jazz needed no encouragement. The young Praxian dove forward, sprawling on his front as he licked and sucked the folds of Prowl's valve. His creator's thighs spread wide, giving him more room to bury his face into the wet heat. </p><p>Energon, lubricant, his own transfluid. The mechling hardly seemed to care as his glossa worked it's way deeper, his visor dark as he concentrated on scent and taste and sound. Prowl was making such pretty sounds, breathy and pleased. A steady flow of praise tickled his audials even as his wings were touched and played with. He wanted to make Prowl overload, to make his carrier happy. </p><p>He abandoned the hungrily clenching valve to fasten his mouth around Prowl's anterior node again once he could no longer taste anything but lubricant. Above him, he heard a muttered curse, the snap of ozone. His claws clung tighter, even as Prowl's hips jerked, nearly dislodging him. He'd given his creator an overload and couldn't be more pleased with himself. Still, he kept suckling until Prowl drew him off, shuddering from overstimulation. And drew him up for a kiss. </p><p>"You did beautifully, little one. I'm so proud of you." Jazz preened at the praise, even as the rough texture of his carrier's glossa dragged across his face. Cleaning the excess goodie, lubricants and Jazz's own transfluid from his face and then his neck. Another bite, just deep enough to satisfy coding-instincts as sharp denta dug into his neck cabling, they relaxed for the moment.</p><p>"That was fun, can we do that one again sometime?" </p><p>Incorrigible, his sparkling. Prowl couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, but perhaps another day. I think for now a bath is in order, don't you?" The oil bath was one of the true luxuries in their apartment, big enough for a full trine to fit comfortably. And Jazz never objected to baths.</p><p>It took only moments for the two to leave the berth and enter the washracks. The bath was already filling as Prowl collected drying clothes and cleaning rags. Jazz was practically squirming as he waited for it to fill to the appropriate level, uncaring of his still exposed array. After all, carrier's was too. </p><p>As soon as possible Jazz was in the warm oil swimming from one side to the other. Prowl settled on the recessed bench within easy reach, keeping a close eye on his mechling though Jazz swam well and there was no danger. </p><p>He hoped the heat would help with any lingering aches the sparkling may have. But also that the liquid heat might help soften the valve seal he would remove tomorrow. Causing Jazz pain was never something Prowl wanted.  </p><p>Eventually even Jazz's seemingly boundless energy ran dry and he settled himself in his carrier's lap to allow for easy cleaning. And at first Prowl was perfunctory, scrubbing his arms and chassis. But once it came time for his small wings… any semblance of propriety was quickly discarded.</p><p>Prowl's claws sunk into his hinges, delicately caressing deeply buried sensors. Jazz grunted, hunching forward as though to offer the Enforcer better access to his appendages. And Prowl did not disappoint. His glossa and fangs slowly worked the sensor panels into a frenzy. Here the gentle scrape of glossa across the broad flat expanse. There the slightest bite of fang scoring his paint. Jazz shuddered in confused ecstacy, his processor whirling as it attempted to parse this new data.</p><p>He hardly even noticed when Prowl's hands found their way between his thighs. He certainly noticed however, when his straining spike was enclosed in a tight fist, squeezing him root to tip as his carrier's hand slowly pumped his spike beneath the oil. A particularly sharp nip coincided with the flat of a clawed digit caressing his valve seal, teasing the surrounding sensors. </p><p>Jazz overloaded with a sharp cry, caught between the fangs sunk into a door and the servo pumping his spike through exquisite ecstasy. Transfluid burst from his spike with every squeeze of Prowl's hand, until the mechling was left panting and exhausted. He was limp in Prowl's arms as the bigger mech tucked his spike back in its sheath and lifted him from the bath. He was fading towards recharge fast, only managing to beg a kiss before he was out like a light.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Lullabies go on and on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The third day dawns and Jazz gets an interesting wake up. He's starting to think his creator is enjoying getting to surprise him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:</p><p>Somnophilia in that Jazz is being touched sexually while not fully awake</p><p>Vaginal fingering</p><p>Breastfeeding - note that this is not inherently sexual, but takes place at the same time as sexual activity</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's much later in the morning this time when Jazz begins to stir. His audials are, as always, the first to come online; listening for approaching threats. His still recharge fogged processors are categorizing everything even before he registers the noises fully.</p><p>The calm pulse of Prowl's spark, nearby. Known, safe. His carrier is humming, a traditional Praxian ballad. Unusual, but not alarming. An odd rasping sound, was Prowl grooming him? </p><p>Doorwings followed hard on the heels of audials. Though it wasn't quite visual data, the sensitive appendages were hard-coded to come online as top-priority, just as his audials were. They were currently partially covered by one of the thick mesh blankets, fuzzing the input to near uselessness. But his hinges were at an unusual angle, his shoulders pressed into the berth while his lower body… was being lifted?</p><p>Optics and haptic net came up simultaneously now that his more important sensors were at full intake. His visor was met with the familiar silver ceiling he's seen nearly every orn he can recall. </p><p>Haptics however; well his hips were indeed being lifted, his creator's claws cupping his aft and upper thighs as he held him in place for… for his mouth to better reach his interface array, apparently. His legs had been thrown over Prowl's broad shoulders and his carrier's rough glossa was working steadily over his seal and anterior node. The rasping sound had been the tiny barbs lining both their glossa slowly scratching away the very topmost layers of his seal.</p><p>Heat shot down his spinal column, pooling low in his pelvis. "Cari…" He's not certain if he wants Prowl to hurry up or stop and let him get his bearings as he tries to sort the sudden rush of need into neat memory files. Not that Prowl is giving him an option. No, his carrier's optics find his visor for a moment, a deeper blue than he remembers ever seeing before, but he doesn't stop. If anything the licks become more insistent, from the far edge of the seal up to his anterior node. Again and again until Jazz is dizzy from pleasure.</p><p>The heat is only getting worse. Jazz opens every vent he can, frantically trying to draw cool air over his internals. Wrestling for control of the heat coiling in his pelvis like a spring wound up tight. </p><p>Prowl wasn't about to give him the time though. He was unrelenting, a mech on a mission. The formerly translucent seal was now hazed with a mess of thin scratches and significantly weakened. The little blue nub nestled above it was flickering fitfully, heralding his creation's rapidly approaching overload.</p><p>Pinning Jazz's legs against his back with his doorwings is a risk, but an acceptable one. It allows him to cautiously slide one of his servos from Jazz's thighs up between his legs. A delicate clawtip teasing around the edge of the seal until he feels Jazz begin to unravel across their bond. His mouth is wrapped around the sensitive biolight in moments, tipping him over with a high, thin keen.</p><p>And a thin clawtip punctures the thin seal, tearing through it easily, even as lubricant wells up around it. The penetration is shallow but still enough that the first few sets of calipers instinctually attempt to cycle closed around it. Prowl is gentle, working his digit back and forth slowly, tearing the remains of the seal with every movement.</p><p>But as Jazz's overload begins to ebb, the mouth on his node and movement within his valve are too much. His systems are demanding fuel immediately as well. A plaintive sound and data dump of Jazz's notifications are sent to Prowl. The Enforcer's claw is carefully withdrawn, though his glossa is quick to abandon the oversensitive anterior node to lick up newly spilt lubricant and thin shreds of silicone with a few broad sweeps. </p><p>Jazz is whining by now, a sound straight from his earliest sparklinghood. The frustrated demand for his carrier to fuel him now. Prowl can't say he's not been conditioned to react to it. Not when it immediately pings his processor to bring up his energon filtering protocols. </p><p>Well, so be it. He's gentle in disentangling the two of them, finally getting Jazz's legs down and aft settled on his lap so he can merely pull Jazz upright with his hands under his shoulders. "'m hungry, Cari." Is the mechling's immediate complaint, small black claws resting on the thin interior armour separating his feeding pouches from the dazed mechling. Jazz is kneading the white plates, perhaps subconsciously, because he's busy pouting at Prowl.</p><p>There's no question in Prowl's mind what his creation needs, no hesitation as he retracts the thin armour covering his internals. "Then you should fuel." He's quick to rearrange Jazz so he is laying across his carrier's lap, head and back supported within easy reach of one of the filled primary pouches. </p><p>The sound of indignation that Jazz produces is dismissed out of hand. They are both aware that the energon filtered from Prowl's own lines would do him good. The high energy content and trace metals were suggested after every frame upgrade if at all possible. Jazz had been attempting to pull the 'too old for that' card lately, but had given in every time. </p><p>This time was no different, his mouth latching onto the swollen nozzle with familiar ease. A faint humming thrummed through them both as Jazz relaxed into his creator's hold, rich energon slowly beginning to fill his tanks and quiet the low fuel warnings. He was safe here, loved and warm. He relaxed, contentment flowing across the bond and into his field.</p><p>Prowl leaned back against the nest wall, resting his strained back with a sigh. Jazz nestled into his chest, was happy to refuel for the moment. And Prowl let him, floating in the satisfaction and soft pleasure the closeness gave him. </p><p>It took several long breem for Jazz to empty the first pouch, though it was obvious he was still in need of fuel. He was still determinedly suckling as though he could draw a few more drops from the depleted pouch until Prowl pointedly shifted him away. It took only a moment to shift him to the pouch on the opposite side, but it was apparently far too long for Jazz, given the gusto with which he latched on again. </p><p>But his creation's preoccupation left Prowl's mind to wander, back to the only partially removed valve seal. He would need to remove the largest pieces before they went much further. Well, he did have a free hand currently. </p><p>Jazz was floating in a haze of good energon, comfort and lazy pleasure. He was certain that he was getting too old to nurse, but he was always loath to give the comfort up. And his carrier was no help, offering to refuel him whenever he thought Jazz wasn't at 100%. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to give up, he was only a handful of frame upgrades from being an adult! But… perhaps later.</p><p>That haze of comfort receives a bit of a knock though, when he feels Prowl's free hand slip between his thighs. He makes a questioning sound low in his throat, though he makes no effort to either unlatch or stop the wandering claws. The arm supporting Jazz's weight merely gives him a gentle squeeze, Prowl crooning reassurance to him even as his thumb rubs a tight circle over his anterior node. </p><p>It's almost enough to startle a gasp from Jazz and certainly is enough to make his hips jump up into the touch. The thumb on his node is very distracting, rubbing with steady pressure in infuriatingly slow circles. It's enough to make his hips dance with every change in pressure, but not to build his overload quickly. And still his fuel warnings flashed distractingly. Jazz turned his focus back to the soft feeding pouch pressed against his mouth, kneading with careful claws as he settled again. His carrier would take care of him. Teasing claws are carefully worked between the lips of his valve to rub over the remnants of his seal and are thoroughly ignored by Jazz for the moment.</p><p>Prowl is meticulous as he works the younger mech's charge steadily higher. He can feel lubricant begin to slick his digits with each pass of his thumb now, the untested valve clenching arrhythmically beneath his claws. Jazz at least still seems content to continue his refueling and leave his carrier to his work. </p><p>Cautiously the tip of one claw is worked inwards, barely breaching the rim before withdrawing. The motion is repeated, the claw working steadily deeper with the slick sound of lubricant and movement filling the room. The gentle exploration drawing a grunt from Jazz as his calipers ripple around his creator's digit. It doesn't hurt, the slim claw too thin to truly be a stretch. But it's unusual and distracting. </p><p>Prowl trills softly, and continues working his claw in deeper, teasing each ring of calipers open in a careful test for misaligned sets. He's still found nothing by the time his digit is fully buried inside his creation and Jazz's fans have kicked up another notch. There's a muffled sound of displeasure from the mechling in his lap as his claw is withdrawn fully, Jazz may not be giving him his full attention but he was still enjoying the pleasant sensations. Prowl shushes him with amusement. </p><p>Jazz is fueling with much less urgency by now, only a slow trickle of energon leaving Prowl's system as he carefully presses the tips of two digits steadily past the rim of the now well lubricated valve. He's attentive for even a twinge of discomfort across the bond, going slowly lest he snag a caliper or mesh with the sharp ends of his digits. But even as they sink in to the first knuckle Jazz is quiet, accepting the penetration with relative ease.</p><p>Prowl tentatively rotates his wrist, twisting his digits inside his creation. And Jazz's calipers clamp down almost impossibly tight, squeezing around them hungrily. Jazz very quickly removes his servo from his carrier's pouch; Prowl would be most displeased with scratches or worse to the sensitive protometal.</p><p>It takes a few kliks before Prowl dares move his claws again, he doesn't have any intention of causing even the briefest moments of discomfort if at all possible. Eventually though the near death-grip loosens and Prowl can work his digits in deeper.</p><p>The steady push-pull within his valve and the constant pressure against his node is finally pushing Jazz towards the cliff's edge of overload. He's finally forced to stop suckling in order to give voice to the moans forcing themselves from his vocalizer. He just needs that last little push… </p><p>"Prowl," hearing his designation, in that tone, sends a shiver of heat across Prowl's spark. Jazz is close, merely needing that last push from his carrier. And the Enforcer is more than happy to provide; the pressure against Jazz's anterior node firming as the claws within him pick up the pace. </p><p>It's only a few thrusts more before Jazz overloads with a wail, lubricant gushing out and over Prowl's deeply buried digits. The remnants of his seal are mostly in tatters by now, sticking to Prowl's hand or Jazz's valve in a graphic announcement of the cause of the destruction. And Jazz is left clinging to his creator, hips twitching in tiny abortive thrusts as aftershocks rock through him.</p><p>Prowl gives him a few breem to calm himself, then curls the claws he's kept buried deep inside his creation experimentally. Jazz stiffens immediately. He's oversensitive and not in the mood for more after all that. </p><p>A small black servo closes around Prowl's wrist, pushing his hand away from the slick array. "'m done for now Carrier. C'n we go watch a vid instead?" </p><p>Prowl is quick to acquiesce, his hand carefully withdrawn from the warmth of Jazz's valve. "Of course, so long as it's not that awful drama with the Prime secretly being an organic again." He quickly cleans his servo with a rag drawn from subspace and then Jazz's array with only the most perfunctory of motions before helping his creation stand. </p><p>"Awwww, but Cari! The big reveal has such a good score!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Hold to me, you've nothing to fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jazz gets to enjoy some rust sticks. There's a bit of a mess. All's well that ends well though.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this one got away from me a tad. I went into it with a plan and well,  this sort of resembles the plan.</p><p>Warnings:<br/>Somnophilia, Jazz is awake for most of this but it doesn't start that way<br/>Improper use of candy/object insertion, seriously people; keep food away from all non-mouth orifices, don't be like Prowl<br/>Overstimulation, brief mention<br/>Edging, just a little<br/>Subspace/subdrop? Closest I can think of for Jazz's headspace in the middle of this</p><p>Think that's it for this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slowly Jazz surfaced from the haze of recharge, processor sluggishly sorting through the slew of new protocols and the memory dump from that morning. He's not on the couch anymore, he knows that. He has faint memories of falling into recharge watching a documentary with Prowl and being picked up as he faded into a defrag. </p><p>Still, Jazz is in no hurry to wake up. He was content to float in the dark and warmth of their berth, languidly bringing his sensors online. His carrier was nearby, the sparkbond thrumming with Prowl’s signature concentration and a heat that was slowly becoming familiar. </p><p>Something nagged at Jazz in the haze of mixed signals that fogged his processor though. The sound of lubricant being forced aside, steady barely sensed movement. A strange tingling.</p><p>Sleepy confusion reached across the bond towards it’s creator’s spark. Amusement, lust and a gentle urging to wake properly was Prowl’s reply. Now the mechling struggled to speed his processor's boot sequence, eager to see what new surprise his carrier had for him.</p><p>It was still several long kliks more before Jazz managed to clear the mess of notifications blurring his processor, dim optics finally lighting his visor just as he felt something thin nudge past his swollen valve lips. A gasp, fans slowly spinning up to relieve the heat that had built up while he slept, and the thing slid gently past the flexing rim of his valve. </p><p>It was too thin to be Prowl’s claw, the texture rough and odd. A breathy whimper escaped him as he finally realized that it was not the only thing inside his valve. “Are you with me again, sweetspark?” The rumble of his carrier’s voice, sweet and purring, came from between his thighs. </p><p>Jazz struggled to lift his head, finally managing to look down his body to see what was being done to him. “Y-yeah, ‘m awake Prowl.” His voice hitched as whatever his carrier was working ever deeper into his valve snagged the mesh lining, tugging teasingly as it passed. His calipers clenched convulsively, rippling around the things inside of him in search of more stimulation. He could feel them shift, moving against each other. He whined, need pulsing through his valve and across the bond, urging the older black and white on.</p><p>Prowl’s optics darkened, all the formidable focus the tactician was known for currently turned on his creation’s valve. Which now quivered enticingly around 3 rust sticks. “Good, we don’t want you to miss out on the fun, do we?” His smile was small, though no less sincere as he finally looked away from Jazz’s valve and pulled another rust stick from his subspace, allowing Jazz a good look at what would soon be joining the others inside him. </p><p>Though he couldn’t see his creation’s optics, the surprised brightening of his visor coincided beautifully with the sudden whining of his fans as Jazz desperately tried to dump heat. His sparkling had just realized exactly what Prowl had been using to slowly fill him as he recharged.</p><p>There's a choked sound before Jazz resets his vocalizer with a click. "No. No Cari, wouldn't wanna miss anythin'." The rush of approval from Prowl is it's own kind of pleasure, one that draws a trill from the mechling. He thrives on that approval, craves it. He instinctively spreads his legs even wider as Prowl's focus returns to his throbbing valve. Already he can feel the slick lubricant dripping down onto his aft.</p><p>Prowl hums, ducking his helm between the slim white thighs to lap up the mess and tease the tip of his tongue over the trembling rim of Jazz's valve.  The tip of the newest rust stick circles the brightly glowing node, the barely felt touches drawing a sound of complaint from the young mech. The sensations are too light, frustrating the young mech.  It wasn't nearly enough stimulation. </p><p>He shouldn't tease someone so new to interfacing he supposes. He relents, dragging the rust stick down the flushed array to the rim of Jazz's valve, letting it rest there for a moment as he admires his handiwork.</p><p>The translucent pink lubricant leaking from the newly activated valve has already started to take on a faint purple tint as the rust sticks begin to melt. And Prowl can't resist drawing one puffy valve lip into his mouth, suckling it clean and bathing it with gentle licks. Jazz mewls needily above him, though makes no effort to grab or hurry his creator.</p><p>The thin tip of the rust stick is pressed into his sparkling's valve just as he pulls his mouth off with a wet 'pop!'. Jazz keens, hips lifting insistently as he tries to take the treat in deeper, though Prowl's steady servo keeps him from that goal. He keeps the pressure constant but shallow, making sure Jazz feels every inch of the treat pushing up inside him.</p><p>His valve feels so full already, calipers spread further than they had been by his carrier's claws only joors before. "Please Carrier! I need- I need-,"  he wasn't sure what exactly he needed. But he trusted Prowl. Trusted that Prowl would know exactly what he was asking for, that he would be taken care of.</p><p>The Enforcer's heavy pursuit engine rumbled, the fourth rust stick coming to rest comfortably against Jazz's ceiling nodes with the others. "Soon Jazz, just relax." After all, he still had two rust sticks left in his subspace. And it wouldn't do to end the fun so quickly. His lips brushed the inside of one trembling thigh, denta latching on and digging in to add another claiming mark. The admonishment and bite settle Jazz, if only slightly. His ventilations are still rapid and thready, but slowing. And Prowl will always reward good behaviour. </p><p>His hands come up, petting Jazz's flanks in long, soothing strokes. "Calm, sweetling." The slightly ironic term of endearment draws a giggle from Jazz, distracting him momentarily. It's a cheerful sound and makes Prowl smile as he lifts himself to steal a kiss from his creation.</p><p>Jazz meets his lips eagerly, glossa flicking out to meet his carrier's. He can taste the sweetness of the rust sticks and his own lubricant on Prowl's glossa, he realizes giddily. Shifting himself though, to get a better angle draws a gasp from him as he breaks the kiss. He can feel the rust sticks move within him. Can feel his valve spasm around them from the sensitive rim all the way back to his ceiling node. It's an intense sensation and certainly not one he was prepared for in that moment. But it sends a delicious shiver of pleasure up his spine just thinking about what Prowl had done. </p><p>"Would you like more Jazz?" Prowl's voice is full of promise, dark and syrupy. Yes, he wants. He wants very much. But actually giving voice to that need… well, that was easier said than done. Nodding gets him nothing, save Prowl pulling away entirely. "I-yes! Yes, please give me more Carrier!" He knows Prowl wouldn't leave him hanging like this, but in the moment all he can think is that Prowl might end this game right then and there. The idea leaves him cold and reaching out for his carrier, who immediately is back within reach; petting and nuzzling him. </p><p>Prowl hadn't intended to cause Jazz even that momentary distress and a surge of guilt eats at him for being the cause. He'd thought, perhaps, that Jazz had merely needed a moment to compose himself. Instead he'd upset him, however briefly. Quiet apology seeps across the bond and Prowl takes a few moments to groom and soothe his sparkling.</p><p>Jazz relaxes by inches, letting the tension in his frame lessen as Prowl carefully grooms his face and neck. That warmth and surety starts to return with the closeness and attention. He's still not quite sure what came over him, only that he wants, needs, Prowl close. Still though, his charge hasn't decreased any. And the ache in his valve of is very distracting. "More, please?" His hips shift side to side, searching for more sensation, something to tip him over the edge.</p><p>"Of course, Jazz. Whatever you want." One last kiss is pressed against his collar fairing and then Prowl slips down between his thighs again. Jazz tries to remain still, but it is a lost cause by this point. </p><p>It takes effort for Prowl to get the fifth rust stick past the tight rim of his creation's valve. Jazz was cycling his calipers down instinctually, eager for more. Prowl was left to press the treat inwards slowly at each fluttering release of pressure, making certain that each shallow thrust lights up new sensor nodes. The slowly spreading valve pleats draw out fresh washes of lubricant, quickly lapped away. It ends up taking nearly twice as long as the previous treats to fully seat the rust stick within the straining valve as Jazz writhes and mewls pleadingly.</p><p>Jazz grasps the blankets beneath him in a death grip, claws snagging in the fine mesh as he tries to ground himself. His hips won't stay still, alternately pushing up into that wonderful pressure and trying to jerk away as it becomes too much for the young mech's overwhelmed sensor net. Not that he can really escape the pressure building inside him.</p><p>Soon choked moans and cries of his carrier's name spill forth in an endless flood of pleading glyphs. He was so full. He was close. Please, please, please Prowl. He couldn't tell now what was coming from his vocalizer and what from his spark. All he knew was he needed.</p><p>The final rust stick Prowl didn't even bother trying to edge through the tightly clamped rim of his sparkling's valve. No, this one he presses into the center of the cluster of treats protruding from the small opening, pressing it in with steady pressure as Jazz's sounds rise to a crescendo. </p><p>It's slow going, Prowl hesitant of accidentally causing pain. But Jazz accepts the final rust stick just as smoothly as he had the first. And as it finally slides home inside the slick opening, Prowl's mouth latches on to the brightly glowing nub nestled above the stuffed port.</p><p>There was so much pressure in his valve. He could feel his calipers slowly being pried apart as the candy forced the others inside of him aside. He's spread so far open, it almost makes him dizzy. And when Prowl begins to suck and lick his anterior node, Jazz was helpless before the wave of pleasure that whited out his processor. A wordless sob was the only sound his vocalizer could produce, his back bowing sharply as his wings beat against the soft pillows beneath him. The overload seemed to last only seconds and yet drag on for eternity, stretching on for an interminable time as his focus was reduced to only his valve and the thought his carrier had filled it with <i>candy</i>. Finally though, the pleasure ebbs and he collapses back onto the berth. </p><p>Prowl sat up, resting on his heels as he took in the state he's put his sparkling in. Jazz, shaking and covered in condensation, his visor dimmed as he pants to cool his internals. His wings akimbo beneath him. A blanket that would require mending from how tightly his mechling's claws had gripped. And that beautiful little valve, quivering and stuffed full as it contracted and expanded around half a dozen treats buried deep inside him. Thin, discolored lubricant dripping onto the sheets beneath him and splattered across his thighs. </p><p>He encoded the memory in the highest definition he could manage. It would be an image of his mechling he'd cherish for centuries. Prowl purred, pleased as he leant down and nuzzled the damp thighs before him. And paused as a wicked thought struck him and was immediately pushed over the bond to his trembling creation; he was going to enjoy removing the rust sticks just as much, once Jazz had caught his breath.</p><p>Jazz only managed a choked whine in reply. His sensor net is abuzz with pleasure, his fans whining as they desperately try to cool him. And all he can think is how very much he wants his carrier to hold him. To cuddle him and never let go. To tell him it was alright and he'd done just as Prowl had wanted. To hold him to his chassis so he could feel the reassuring thrum of the spark that had born him and let him savour the fullness in his valve. </p><p>He must have been broadcasting, because Prowl makes a sound of regret and pulls away from his groin with one last lick to the swollen rim of his valve and a deep huff to draw his scent over his olfactory sensors. The tactician is laying back beside him, carefully drawing him nearer until he can lift him onto his carrier's broad chassis. There's a hand between his legs that keeps the rust sticks seated inside him, though he feels his valve push them out a scant few inches as he's settled on his stomach. </p><p>He can't keep the sub-vocal whine of loss from his throat, even as Prowl rumbles soothingly to him. The candies are pushed back in carefully, though not one by one. No, every single one of them is gently pushed back inside with the palm of his carrier's hand at the same time. </p><p>It's agonizing. It feels like he's being split in two as they shift and roll against each other deep inside him. As the rough sides catch on his rim, tug on the mesh and nodes inside his valve. As his calipers are spread wide once again. It burns with a sweet heat. It's the best thing he's ever felt and his claws and fangs are sunk into his carrier's armour as he screams through a second overload.</p><p>Prowl is purring and pulsing pride and love across their bond to his dazed creation. Jazz attempts to purr back, but it's thready and hitches with the aftershocks of his most recent overload. Prowl lets him recover at his own pace, just holding his mechling close. Though he makes certain to keep his hand cupped around Jazz's valve, lest the treats begin to slide out again.</p><p>Jazz is focused internally, still shivering with stray twinges of pleasure as his valve rhythmically squeezes the rust sticks inside him. His valve and thighs are probably a mess he knows, and he can feel the lubricant pooling beneath him on Prowl. But he doesn't care, he's busy floating on a cloud of pleasure and doesn't want to move until it starts to fade. </p><p>It's nearly two breems later that Jazz stirs, his fangs and claws finally unlatch and he licks the deep bite apologetically. It only draws a laugh and a feeling of adoration from Prowl. "Are you ready to have them out my love?" There's no question between them what he is talking about, but just to be sure Jazz gets the point he twists one of the candies stuffing his creation's valve. It's pressed against his ceiling node and scratches lightly as it's moved, shifting all the other rods inside him as well.</p><p>Jazz moans, low and wanting. It's certainly enough to peak his interest again, but he can feel the charge building more slowly as he tires. "Yeah. Yes, Carrier. 'm done wit' my treat." There's a glimmer of mischief in the cool blue visor and Prowl can't help but be amused by the cheek. </p><p>"Bratling, what am I to do with you?" Jazz purrs, every sub-glyph his creator uses is fond and amused. He could stay here for orns, just like this; warm and content, Prowl's affection certain and strong over the bond.</p><p>"Love me, o' course." His visor flickers off and on quickly, a wink. And Prowl is once again overwhelmed by just how deeply he cares for the young mech on top of him. By the unexpected depths of his devotion that have surprised him from the very first day he realized he was sparked. He loves his creation, enough to kill for him, enough to die for him. And though it's clear Jazz knows he is loved, some things deserve to be given voice. "I will love you for all the ages of eternity, until the stars die out, my brightspark."</p><p>The words have all the ring of a promise. Jazz ducks his helm in embarrassment, though it still sets his spark aflutter with joy. "Love you too, Cari." It felt inadequate, but it was all Jazz could offer in the face of such devotion. But then, what else was there to say? It was the simple truth. He pulls himself a little further up Prowl's chassis so he can press an audial directly over the other's spark and relaxes there.</p><p>Prowl settles a hand between Jazz's wings, squeezing him gently. His mechling is adorable. And also still full of rust sticks, he should perhaps do something about that. Bring their play to an end for the day and clean up if Jazz is capable of it. </p><p>"I'm going to start removing these now, if you are ready." His voice is soft, not wanting to startle Jazz as his claws grasp the base of one rust stick. There's a quiet murmur of agreement and the vague sensation of a nod from his chest.</p><p>The rust stick is slippery with spilled lubricant, but Prowl's claws grasp it tightly and pull with steady pressure. The movement is slow, allowing each ring of spread calipers to close behind it. Jazz shifts on top of him, a soft sigh of pleasure as the thin rod finally pulls free his only sound. Prowl flicks his wrist, sending the soaked candy to an empty subspace to be disposed of later.</p><p>Jazz is limp on his carrier's chest, optics dimmed as he listens to the steady beat of Prowl's spark. The pleasure is less intense this time, with none of the urgency he'd felt earlier. He's perfectly content to lay there and let Prowl work him towards a final overload. So long as it means he doesn't have to move from his comfortable position.</p><p>Prowl is just as careful removing the next rod, though a little quicker this time. There's the slick sound of movement within a well-lubricated valve, but no noise of complaint or displeasure from Jazz. Just a slight flexing of claws against Prowl's chest. </p><p>As he reaches for the third, the Enforcer's other hand slides down Jazz's back, over his aft to rest his claws either side of the swollen rim. He can feel the elastic rim fluttering beneath his digits as it tries to cycle back down to its original size. The shudder that goes through Jazz as he tugs the treat from where it's nestled against the ceiling nodes of his valve feels like the small port is trying to pull the rust stick back in.</p><p>The pleasure licks through Jazz's lines in slow pulses, like the tide of the Rust Sea coming in. His limbs feel heavy and unwieldy, but the tingling up his spinal column as overload builds is much more engrossing. Jazz keeps his ventilations slow and deep as another wave of pleasure washes over him, accepting it as it comes and Prowl removes a fourth rust stick.</p><p>Only two remaining, only slightly thicker than Prowl's claws. He has to clench his port tightly around them to feel them move. It's too much trouble to keep up for long, Jazz decides. Prowl takes pity on him though, the servo that had been cupping his valve slipping away to fondle his engorged node as he pulls both treats from within his creation's relaxed and sopping wet valve.</p><p>Jazz doesn't even try to muffle the soft cry he makes as he finally slips over the edge into a final overload. It's much softer than the previous two, rolling over him in shuddering waves. His valve feels empty now, his nub slightly numb from all the stimulation. And he is content to lay there as Prowl cleans what he can reach with a fresh rag. They'll both need to have a proper wash tomorrow, but for now he's happy to lounge and drift in and out of recharge until it's time for evening fuel.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The storm clouds mask your beloved moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The morning of the fourth day dawns and Jazz is not a happy camper. Prowl gets lost in thought and painful memories rear their heads.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for this chapter:</p><p>Mentions of character death, all OCs<br/>Racism. Or Frame/Culturism? Fantastic Racism basically<br/>Breastfeeding, again non-sexual</p><p>Exposition is so much harder to write when it's all in one person's head without it coming across as just info dump. Tried to keep it short to be safe, but I'm still not pleased with this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prowl was, by necessity, an early riser. But when given the opportunity he would recharge well into the morning. His overclocked processor and tactical unit required far longer than most mecha to defrag properly. And it certainly wasn't helped by his penchant for staying up well into the dark-cycle when given the choice.</p><p>Jazz was much the same in that he preferred to recharge the early part of the light-cycle away whenever possible. But even on days when both could recharge as long as they liked, it was rare for Jazz to online first.</p><p>So it was unusual for Prowl to come online with Jazz already aware and still in the berth beside him. The young mech was still curled to his chest under the heavy covers. He was also currently rubbing his cheek against Prowl's chest armour rather insistently, a pout on his face.</p><p>Well.</p><p>His creation was hungry and hadn't wanted to get up just yet. He couldn't say he was overly surprised, it wasn't an uncommon situation. He sighed with fond exasperation as he engaged his feeding protocols.</p><p>"For someone who claims they are getting too old for this, you seem reluctant to stop." Not that he had any objections to nursing his creation. It wasn't uncommon for even adults to request it from their creators. Especially when stressed or in need of comfort.</p><p>Jazz merely grunted, forehelm pressed to Prowl's chest as sensitive audials listened to the rush of energon slowly filling his carrier's feeding pouches. He wasn't feeling like talking just yet.</p><p>Prowl chuckled to himself as he let the armour plating covering his primary feeding lines retract, granting his surly sparkling access. The smaller black and white was not a morning mech by any stretch of the word. That he had been relatively upbeat and cheerful the previous orns spoke more highly of his excitement than any sudden joy in greeting Hadeen as it rose.</p><p>So Prowl merely held his creation close, letting him refuel in peace as he pet small doorwings and let his mind wander. It turns to his pride as it has so often in the last decaorn. To the longing he still felt for home. Of course, the family compound hadn't actually felt like somewhere he belonged in a long time, even decavorns before he'd become gravid.</p><p>It hadn't truly felt like home since his creation trine had returned to the Well together. Prowl's great-grandsire had felt his youngest grandcreation had trined beneath his station in life when he had courted a street musician with no pride to call his own and a constructed rotor from Kalis as trinemates.</p><p>Prowl liked to think Jazz had gotten his love of music from Mezzo, though he supposed it could be from Jazz's own sire. Mezzo had been a quiet reserved mech, but he'd had a smooth, mellow voice and played the crys-harp well. He'd loved to take Prowl to see the crystal gardens and make the towering crystals sing for his sparkling. But he'd also been a foundling on the streets, no creation trine or pride to claim the silver and green mech. As far as the upper-class of Praxus was concerned, he was to be pitied and avoided. His carrier had felt differently.</p><p>His carrier would have adored Jazz, the two of them would have caused much mischief together. Cantilever had been irreverent and incorrigible, the one who made a room light up just by entering it. He'd also been a respected engineer. Cantilever and Mezzo had died together at a job site. An errant spark, too close to improperly insulated energon lines and nearly 20 mecha had been gone in an instant. It had led to a harsh crackdown on site inspectors and foremen both. No more cutting corners to save on credits. No more laughing carrier in sunny white and yellow.</p><p>Prowl was happy that such an accident wouldn't reoccur, but it didn't return his creators to him. It still left him largely ignored by the older members of his pride while his last creator lived. A Kalisian Rotor, Nighthawk had been the biggest affront to great-grandsire Sunglare's sensibilities. A Seeker or Praxian Aerial would have been acceptable, granted they were from a well-to-do pride or cauldron. But no, not only had Nighthawk been a Rotor, he'd had the audacity to be constructed.</p><p>Commissioned for the Kalisian military, his kind, quiet sire had been all but run out of the pride compound when his mates had died. Likely would have been if not for Prowl's young age. He'd been barely an adult at the time, only newly accepted into the Enforcer Academy and desperately clinging to the only creator remaining to him. The massive black mech had held on for a decavorn, long enough to see Prowl graduate top of his class before he'd said his goodbyes.</p><p>His spark still contracted painfully whenever he recalled sitting beside his sire, holding his hand as the once glossy frame faded to a dull grey. He hadn't cried or begged Nighthawk to stay, he'd known what kind of pain his sire was in. But still, he was left bereft, no family but a few cousins even acknowledging his loss. No, he had never truly forgiven his pride for how they had treated first Nighthawk, who had shared his love of puzzles and mysteries and endured vorns of broken matebonds for his creation, and then Jazz, innocent of any wrongdoing, save for his carrier's 'indiscretion'.</p><p>"Y'r thinkin' too hard Cari, 's too early for that." Jazz's voice is rough from recharge and quiet. The Enforcer hadn't even noticed his mechling had finished refueling, nor that his armour had closed again. He felt a flash of embarrassment at letting himself get so lost in thought. "I apologize Jazz, it won't happen again."</p><p>The smaller black and white heaved himself upwards to look his carrier in the optic with a stern expression he was clearly imitating from Prowl himself. "No 'pologizin', refuel, shower, then y'can think all you want." It took Prowl a klik to process that he had just been <em>scolded</em>, by his own creation nonetheless. But it brought a smile to his face and lightened his spark.</p><p>"You are right, of course. Shall we get up then, my brightspark?" Getting them both out of berth, properly fueled and then cleaned took the better part of a joor. And Prowl was glad for the distractions, it kept his thoughts from drifting towards the melancholy.</p><p>Jazz, it seemed, was perfectly content to relax for the orn, rather than continue exploring his interface array. He'd settled himself down on the couch with a new game that was keeping him easily entertained. Prowl tried to settle himself, he did. But logic puzzles and novels were just not cutting it today.</p><p>Perhaps practicing his kata would help calm him. Standing, he murmured an explanation to Jazz and a brief caress of a wing before heading back to their berth room. His practice area is pristine as per usual, Jazz only rarely in the space without supervision. Centering himself with a calming ventilation, he slipped easily into familiar kata practicing his strikes against the mechiwara, at first slowly and then picking up speed as he repeated them. Slowly, he calmed, a meditative state that let his thoughts come as they may.</p><p><em>Jazz</em>. Jazz was always in his thoughts. Had he done right by his creation? Would he have perhaps done better in Polyhex, had more opportunities there? His TacUnit had always given him less than favourable odds when he'd considered relocating. There was no guarantee of more familial support in the underground city than there was in Praxus. He knew nothing about Ricochet's family after all. And if Ricochet had no interest in claiming his creation, why would his skulk?</p><p>On top of that, Prowl would have been virtually blind in the dim caverns of Polyhex. Unsuitable for all but desk jobs if he could even get a transfer to one of their Enforcer's precincts. No, Polyhexians could be as notoriously insular as Seekers, and for much the same reasons. Few could handle the environments they ruled over and it caused them to dismiss anyone unable to adapt satisfactorily. Jazz would have been subject to harassment over his weak carrier rather than his lack of pride, which earned him pity in Praxus instead.</p><p>Eventually Prowl had to accept that there had been<em> no</em> good choices in the options presented to him. He had done the best he could to give Jazz a good life. And Jazz was a healthy, happy mechling who made friends easily. It would be enough, he would do well in life.</p><p>The final strike of his kata broke one of the sturdy strike points right off the pole. It skittered across the floor with an almighty clang that caused Prowl to cringe and check on the narrowed bond between himself and his creation. His mechling was projecting cautious curiosity and worry. That… was not ideal. He sent back a wave of reassurance and commed a short memory of the strike fracturing the strike point as explanation.</p><p>It seemed that his mind was intent on wandering to painful subjects today. Perhaps it was time to see if Jazz wanted to leave the habsuite for a bit. Hopefully being out would clear his mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I was born to endure this kind of weather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some tea is spilt, and some tears with it. A lovely afternoon takes an ugly turn and Prowl is left frustrated by the day that seems determined to be ruined.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter notes, this one is SFW, I think.</p><p>Warnings; Chromedome bashing because I needed a villain and he was convenient. </p><p>Slut shaming or something very like it</p><p>Parental abandonment of sorts? The Ricochet thing gets a little discussion basically</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Quartz district was a relatively quiet one, and thus where Enforcers tended to congregate during off-shift orns. It was also well-known for its cafés and drive parks, making it something of a hidden gem for those that wanted to experience the best of Praxus in as small a time as possible.</p><p> </p><p>Prowl dips his wings politely to on-duty Enforcers they pass, Jazz waving to a few he recognizes as friendly from the precinct. The two are buffed and polished, no signs of their recent activities left behind as they head for their favourite café. The Enforcer slowly starts to relax. Getting out had been a good idea. </p><p> </p><p>The Amethyst Leaf has only a handful of patrons when they enter, unsurprising during early afternoon mid-decaorn. There's only the quiet murmur of conversation and fuel being consumed as they head for the orange and grey mech taking orders. Prowl's wings flick an acknowledgement as a few 'sirs' drift from a table of off-duty Enforcers. He recognizes only a handful from his days in mechaforensics, but the cant of his wings is distinctly warmer for that familiarity.</p><p> </p><p>Jazz is practically bouncing as he examines the menu, though he must know it practically by spark by now. "Carrier, c'n we get some Celestine Tarts? Ganache says they're fresh from the kitchen!" Ganache, the orange mech and proprietor of the café nodded happily. "It's true Commander, still warm from the ovens even. We've also got a batch of arsenic-nickel muffins coming up in a quarter joor if you're staying in to eat and don't mind the wait?" His wings are held at a friendly angle, long familiar with the black and whites' preferences and happy to see the pleasant customers.</p><p> </p><p>"You know my weaknesses Ganache, one day I'll have to do something about that." The teasing tone isn't something that many that have only known Prowl in a professional setting would ever believe he could produce. It's an old inside joke that draws a chuckle from the café owner. "So a cube of high-test with zinc, a cube of low-grade and gold, some Celestine Tarts, an arsenic-nickel muffin and some bismuth goodies - on the house. Ah, ah! It's a special occasion, allow me to indulge you two a little!"</p><p> </p><p>Jazz looked far too excited at the prospect of his treats for Prowl to truly argue. It was a generous gift for someone not in their pride to give, though gifts were typical after each frame upgrade. Ganache was truly fond of them indeed. Instead he murmured a quiet thank you and slipped a credit stick with enough to cover at least the energon and tarts into the tip jar. "Enjoy, I'll let you know when the muffins are out Prowl."</p><p> </p><p>Prowl retreated to a booth with Jazz in tow, considering. The orange mech well knew that there were few adults who would gift Jazz anything after his upgrades. He'd always been a kind mech, even when Prowl had come to the Amethyst Leaf as a sparkling himself. And it was a kindness, not pity. Prowl struggled to convince himself, his TacUnit unhelpfully pointing out that it was likely both. Pity for a sparkling that should have a large pride to dote on him, kindness for favoured long-term customers on a special occasion. He would not hold the pity against the old mech, he couldn't. Once, he'd have had a similar reaction. Once he'd had a pride that at least acknowledged him, if not welcomed him.</p><p> </p><p>Still, they are here to relax and enjoy treats and time together. He turns his focus back to Jazz, ignoring customers coming and going as they savour their treats and talk about whatever thoughts happen to catch Jazz's attention. Largely music and his friends of course, but that was typical Jazz. He'd certainly not gotten his extroverted personality from Prowl, though he lacked the rough edges of his side's rather… aggressive personality.</p><p> </p><p>Behind them the table of Enforcers calls a greeting as someone new enters. It causes both sets of black and white doorwings to flare briefly in surprise, but it's not enough to derail Jazz. "And Dev was saying that when school lets out for break, his sire is gonna take him off-world to visit some of the colonies!"</p><p> </p><p>"Devcon's sire will have to confirm the travel permits beforehand, but I'm sure it will be a very exciting trip. Perhaps if you ask, he will download some of the music he encounters for you." Prowl privately wonders what exactly Devcon's carrier had seen in Lockdown, but the young Altihexian jet seemed to have a good relationship with his creator. It was not Prowl's place to judge the bounty-hunter's parenting unless he saw evidence of abuse.</p><p> </p><p>"Prowl! Your muffin is ready!" Ganache's voice echoed through the café as he came back from the kitchen holding a platter full of treats to be added to the displays. Standing, Prowl gave his creation a mock stern look, "I will be back in a moment. Do not attempt to climb anyone while I'm away."</p><p> </p><p>A squawk sounded from behind him. "One time! I did that <em>one time</em>!" Jazz's outrage was dismissed with an amused up-down flick of broad doorwings as he headed for the counter. An unfamiliar voice, close to the entrance, brought him up short only steps from the counter however.</p><p> </p><p>"Prowl? Domey, isn't that the name of your ex?" The voice came from a small mech sitting with the table full of Enforcers. And beside him…. Chromedome. "If you wouldn't mind Ganache, I'd like the muffin to go." He kept his back turned towards the group, pretending he hadn't heard, that he wasn't straining his doorwings and audials to eavesdrop. "Yeah, it's a common enough designation in Praxus. I dumped him right before I transferred back to Iacon." The former Enforcer hadn't even bothered to look up, to check if it was the same person. He'd merely assumed it was someone else. And was ignoring the warning cant of the wings at the table. "Less than a centivorn later he apparently got tapped for some undercover work. Heard he went into heat in the middle of the mission. Wouldn't have even known it was possible with how cold he was." He was grandstanding, playing up his incredulity and looking at his former colleagues as though he expected agreement. </p><p> </p><p>He could sense the mechs who had known him from mechaforensics or shifting uncomfortably in their seats. The younger Enforcers with them however seemed to be leaning in closer, they had only ever known Prowl as the calm and collected officer directing them during raids or big operations. Ganache, oblivious to anything not directly in front of his counter or causing a huge ruckus, blithely handed Prowl his wrapped muffin. Prowl ducked his head in thanks and headed back to his creation at a quick-time march. They needed to leave as soon as possible. Or Prowl would cause a scene.</p><p> </p><p>Jazz was still in the booth, a troubled look on his face. Behind them the little memory stick piped up again. "That was the joint mission with Polyhex's Vice Unit? Blaster was running encryption on the comms network for that one I think. Weapons and drug smuggling ring?" There were still uneaten treats on the table, but Prowl found his appetite suddenly lacking. "Finish your energon Jazz." He realized he'd locked the bond down tight when he felt his sparkling prod at his blocks. He only shook his head, he wouldn't expose Jazz to the mess of rage and humiliation that was flooding his spark as he listened to his ex-partner. Though they'd parted on poor terms, it still hurt to hear himself disparaged by a mech he'd once thought he loved.</p><p> </p><p>"Heard he was trying to claim the sparkling was Inspector Ricochet's. Probably hoping no one realizes the kid probably has a dozen code donors, most of them criminals." The Iaconian mech's tone is one of cruel enjoyment, as though he enjoys the thought of Prowl desperately trying to cover up 'misdeeds'. "Who knows <em>who</em> the spark-sire is. They say he went radio silent for three orn, nearly derailed the entire operation when the warehouse they were in went on lockdown. Oh well, no great loss to the force when he left I'm sure. He was never particularly good at anything but desk work."</p><p> </p><p>Prowl gulped down his energon, slamming the cube back onto the table with more force than he'd intended. "Carrier-" it was too late, Prowl was shoving himself to his pedes, wings flared wide and aggressive. A hissing growl emanating from deep in his chassis as he stalked towards his former partner who'd sat with his back to the room. So much vulnerable plating, including the back of his neck on display for the angry Praxian.</p><p> </p><p>Someone else spoke up before he had a chance however. "<em>Commander</em> Prowl is currently Commanding Officer of the Praxian Tactical Enforcer Unit. He's saved more than a few of my S.W.A.T. mechs' afts while you've been off in Iacon. You should watch who you run your vocalizer around, Chromedome." Barricade, reckless and arrogant and fiercely loyal. A friend, though only a casual one. He must have arrived after Prowl and Jazz had already ordered.</p><p> </p><p>The heavy-frame Praxian was sitting there with a decidedly unimpressed look. "And Prowl isn't so common a designation you shouldn't check who's listening, eh sir?" Crimson optics flickered over Chromedome's helm to meet Prowl's ice-blue. His wings dipped an apology that Prowl was too angry to accept currently. </p><p> </p><p>The orange and white mech whipped around in his chair, yellow visor blanching to near white in shock as he took in the clearly angry black and white Praxian. "I- Prowl! I didn't realize you-" The angry carrier's wings hiked up even higher, rattling in a threat display that came straight from Seeker ancestors and had all but Barricade shrinking into their seats as they tried to make themselves look non-threatening. </p><p> </p><p>"No. You didn't." Prowl's voice is steady, dripping acid as he glared, claws flexing as he tries to control his temper. "You know <em>nothing</em> of what you speak. You'd already run back to Iacon with your tail between your legs by then." He wants to tear into the mech, let loose all the hurt and anger on him and the tiny datastick looking like he wasn't certain whether to come to Chromedome's defense or leave him to his fate.</p><p> </p><p>But.</p><p> </p><p>But there was the touch of small claws on his hip paneling. Jazz. Jazz who was clearly quite upset and looked on the verge of tears. If he'd had his duty weapon on him, Chromedome may not have made it out of the café. As it stood, if looks could kill the former Enforcer would have been guttering on the floor there and then. He turns, picking up his sparkling and settling him on his hip, the mechling ducking his head into his neck cabling immediately. He has never been so grateful for his reinforced joints and upgraded lift capacity as in that moment. Not that Jazz is thankfully light even at ⅔ his carrier's height.</p><p> </p><p>The hissing, spitting growl he makes as he straightens is a purely Praxian sound of rage, a clear threat. But he turns on his heel and heads for the door. He has an upset sparkling to care for, and that supersedes his need to put his former partner in his place. He ignores the cacophony of raised voices that spring up behind him, Barricade's acerbic tone cutting and the little memory stick's strident.</p><p> </p><p>The visibly angry creator and upset mechling are given a wide berth in the streets and more than a few wide-opticed looks as the Enforcer decals are noted. They are too far from home for Prowl to carry Jazz all the way there, that much is obvious to him immediately. There is however, a small park nearby that is utterly deserted when they arrive. And when he settles himself in a small clearing between the tall stalks of crystal he finally let's himself relax. No one can see them, there's no one here to hear them. Privacy or as close as he could get in a public park.</p><p> </p><p>Still, Jazz clung to his plating, the mechling's armour slicked down tight and doorwings tucked low. Fear and hurt and disquiet rang through his field, though it was now Prowl blocked from the bond. "Jazz? Jazz, sweetspark, please look at me?" Prowl's spark hurt, he'd never wanted Jazz to hear those accusations. Had hoped they died out vorns ago when Jazz had been too young to remember. Or that his rank would keep others from whispering such venom when he was close by at least. Apparently no one had informed Chromedome that such gossip was best kept to himself. Nor had he bothered to keep himself appraised of his former lover's circumstances as Prowl had until he'd left the Enforcers.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, here he sat; devastated youngling refusing to look him in the optic and clinging like a newspark. "Will you sit in my lap at least? It will be more comfortable." He couldn't hold his sparkling properly like this. Couldn't offer comfort when he could barely see his wings and not at all his face. Hot coolant tears hit his shoulder, but Jazz's stranglehold on his armour slowly relaxed, at least enough to shift him into his lap. </p><p> </p><p>It took him breems to coax his creation into looking him in the optics, revealing his tear stained face. In the depths of his spark Prowl promised himself that Chromedome would pay. Not for implying that Prowl would interface with a criminal, even heat-hazed and needy. Not for assuming he would have abandoned his post as soon as he realized he'd sparked. No, Chromedome would suffer dearly for the hurt and upset he had caused to his precious creation. </p><p> </p><p>"I- I'm <em>sorry</em> Carrier!" It came out a sob, immediately followed by a fresh wave of tears. And it left Prowl stunned, an apology had been the last thing he'd expected from Jazz. Imprecations, questions, sullen silence. Those he'd expected, had planned for. But an apology? It had had such a low probability that he'd dismissed the suggestion when his TacUnit had offered it. What did Jazz have to apologize for? He'd done nothing wrong after all. "He was- was saying all those things about you and, and it was all because of me." Prowl's spark dropped into his fuel tank.</p><p> </p><p>"Jazz, Jazz <em>no</em>. None of that was because of you." Wrapping his arms around the little mech, he held him tight and rocked them side to side. "Chromedome and I parted on poor terms. That is not your fault, brightspark." Jazz didn't look like he believed him, but the block on the bond was starting to crack. Prowl would call that improvement at least.</p><p> </p><p>There were still tears leaking from beneath Jazz's visor, but he lifted a hand and dashed them away. "He shouldn't've said those things about you. You're a great Enforcer, they always say so when 'm there. And ya <em>not</em> cold." He'd hated listening to the other mech speak so terribly of his brilliant, kind creator. And to see Prowl so hurt and upset… "An' even if Rico <em>weren't</em> my sire, he'd have no right t' say anything." He finally let the block fall, letting Prowl feel his protective anger and upset. </p><p> </p><p>The Enforcer couldn't help but smile, slight though it was. "Thank you Jazz, though I fear you are biased. As for my record as an Enforcer, I think that it stands for itself. Chromedome may say what he likes, it will not change my statistics." Reaching up he delicately scratched the base of one of Jazz's audial finials. </p><p> </p><p>"And there is absolutely <em>no</em> doubt Ricochet is your sire. He may not wish to give up his life as an undercover investigator, but he has acknowledged you are his when he signed away his creator-rights." It hadn't really crossed Jazz's mind that Ricochet could not be his sire. The older Polyhex looked far too like him, facially and had seemed to have no doubts about Jazz being his either on the handful of occasions he'd met the red and black mech. </p><p> </p><p>"... Ya never told me you two were undercover when you… I was, uh, sparked." Prowl winced, embarrassed. And it just piqued Jazz's curiosity higher. "Why'd they send ya if you were that close to a heat? Doesn't seem like a great plan t'me." A heat left mechs vulnerable, unable to focus. Sending someone undercover close to one… would leave them compromised. </p><p> </p><p>"It was not my intention to go into heat, I was supposed to have another decavorn or so before it started. But these things can be… unpredictable. As soon as Ricochet noticed, he locked down the entire warehouse. Barricaded the two of us into a room until the heat ran its course." He flushed at the memory, embarrassment and arousal both. It had certainly been a very enthusiastic few orns. Orns he remembered fondly enough, but the dressing down he'd received after they'd been extracted… well, the less said the better.</p><p> </p><p>"Show me?"</p><p> </p>
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